


Turnabout Is Foreplay

by Isis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Invisibility, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-05
Updated: 2003-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2572064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus finally gives into the temptation to teach Perfect Mr Potter a lesson he will not forget, but Harry enjoys it rather too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout Is Foreplay

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Severus/Harry Fuh-Q-Fest. Also (I am embarrassed to admit) includes the challenge line "Professor Snape, you sexy bitch."

It was a childish thing to do, he knew. Not appropriate for a 37-year-old man, and certainly not appropriate for a teacher at an institution such as Hogwarts. But that Potter brat had gone too far, and Severus Snape was determined to give the boy a taste of his own medicine. 

He added three drops of quicksilver to the mixture bubbling away in the cauldron and stirred clockwise five times, then counter-clockwise three more. There. Extinguishing the flames with a wave of his wand, he sat back in his chair, watching the potion cool and thinking about Harry Potter. 

Whatever had possessed that fool Dumbledore to give the boy his father's invisibility cloak? You'd think that decades as Headmaster would have taught him that teenage boys don't need anything to help them break rules and cause terror. And now that Potter was in his final year of school, when he should have been studying for his NEWTs, his escapades seemed to be getting worse. 

Things had been disappearing from Snape's storeroom. Two jars of the salve base he used for making healing potions for the infirmary, a container of lizard eyes, three of his stirring rods, and bits and pieces of other ingredients, all gone. Not that he could pin it all on Potter, of course, but after catching him two weeks ago, he was certain that that brat was indeed the culprit. 

Snape had been grading papers in his office adjacent to the potions storeroom that night. When a ladle crashed to the floor, he jumped up, swept his arms around the room, and was not surprised in the least to collide with an invisible Harry Potter. He had apparently not yet stolen anything that evening, much to Snape's chagrin, but the intrusion was worth a very satisfying detention. 

An ordinary child would have learned his lesson. But Potter, as everybody knew, was no ordinary child. The following week, several items had gone missing from Snape's quarters. His personal, private quarters! Severus Snape was an organized man. Everything had a place, and in its place it stayed; things didn't just 'go missing'. The house elves wouldn't dare put something other than in its assigned place, much less remove it entirely. No, it had to be Potter, Potter and his damned invisibility cloak. 

Snape had skipped dinner in preparation for his evening's plans, but there was still a small amount of somewhat distasteful additional preparation needed. Selecting a vial from a cabinet, he took it into the bathroom, measured out a spoonful, and drank it down. The taste was awful, the feeling in his gut even worse, but after ten minutes it had run its course. After a quick but thorough shower, he was completely clean, inside and out. 

He didn't bother dressing after the shower, but strode naked back to the cauldron. The liquid inside had turned a satisfying silvery color. Oh, yes. This was going to be an enjoyable evening. Measuring out exactly fourteen centiliters, he drank it down. 

Immediately he felt the change begin, a sort of fizzy feeling coursing through his bloodstream; curious, he moved to the mirror where he watched with interest as the transparency slowly spread from his stomach outward to his feet and fingertips. It was most peculiar watching himself disappear. He noticed with interest that the potion affected his eyes and optic nerves as well, with his color vision fading slightly while his perception of edges and details increased. 

After twenty minutes, he was completely invisible. He checked his non-reflection one last time, noting smugly that his exacting preparations had paid off. Not a single bit of undigested food or speck of dust betrayed his presence. 

As he ghosted through the corridors toward Gryffindor tower, he found himself feeling oddly vulnerable with no clothing and no wand. It was also a bit awkward, walking without being able to see his own feet, and he stumbled quite a bit while getting accustomed to it. Presumably this was why invisibility cloaks were rare and desirable, and the invisibility potion just a footnote in the textbooks. The advantages were somewhat counteracted by the disadvantages, including the inability to carry anything but one's wits. Fortunately, he had plenty of those. 

He lurked near the Fat Lady's portrait until a gaggle of students came back from the library, and slipped into the Gryffindor common room in their wake. Potter was a prefect -- whatever *had* possessed Minerva to appoint that miscreant? -- and thus had his own small room in a corridor to the side. It wasn't even locked, Snape noted with combined relief and disapproval, as he tested the knob, then pushed open the door. 

Potter wasn't there, of course; this visit was timed to coincide with a detention Filch had given him, so Snape had plenty of time. He couldn't take anything; no clothing meant no pockets, and he wasn't about to attract attention with something floating mysteriously down the hallway. No, he'd just poke around a little, satisfying his own curiosity about The Boy Who Annoyed, and leave things in enough of a disarray so that Potter would know what it felt like to have his personal space violated. 

Of course, as it was the room of a teenage boy, things were already in moderate disarray. But Snape took great pleasure in rearranging the photographs on the desk, in swapping the contents of one bureau drawer for another, and -- most particularly -- in removing Potter's potions textbook from the bottom of the stack of books on the desk, and replacing it in the very middle of the desk, open to his current lesson. 

The opening of the door startled him; he should have had at least another half hour. Scowling, he put down the homework essay he'd been critically examining as Potter entered the room. His faithful shadows stood in the doorway. 

"I'm not going to be able to do that again," Hermione Granger was saying in scolding tones. "Filch will probably go running to Professor McGonagall and complain that I've abused my status." 

"What's the use of being Head Girl if you can't abuse your status once in a while?" 

"Honestly, Harry. You don't appreciate the value of hard work. You're probably not even going to 'work on a special project', are you?" 

Ron Weasley put his arms around the Granger girl from behind and kissed her neck. "I'm planning to start my 'special project' as soon as we get to your room." Snape shuddered. With luck, he'd retire before they started churning out a new generation of know-it-all redheads. 

Potter grinned. "I really do appreciate you getting us out of detention early, Hermione." 

"Have a nice evening, mate," said Weasley, and he and his girlfriend went back into the hallway. Snape tried to escape as they left, but there was no room to slip by them through the doorway, and they closed the door directly behind them, trapping him in the room with Potter. 

Snape carefully stifled a groan. It looked as though he'd be stuck until the brat went to sleep, or at least until he left to use the toilet. Well, he'd taken enough of the invisibility potion to last until after midnight, so he ought to be safe from discovery. Provided he could keep from falling asleep out of sheer boredom.

The boy locked the door behind his friends, then placed a silencing spell on the room. Interesting. Whatever he was planning to do this evening, it certainly wasn't studying. Maybe he could catch Potter in some mischief, after all. He leaned back against the wall, wondering what the boy would do next. 

What he did next was not at all what Snape had expected. Potter stood in front of the mirror and slowly removed his clothing, deliberately trailing his own fingers across each bit of newly-exposed skin. Quite an attractive sight, if you liked men. As Snape did. Potter had gained his full height in the past two years, and although not particularly tall, he was still nicely built, with compact muscles that spoke of more time spent horsing around outside than studying at his desk. The curve of his arse -- lovely, really. And from the reflection of the cock that Potter was slowly stroking to hardness, Snape could see that "boy" was altogether the inappropriate word. The stirring in his own groin was also inappropriate, he had to admit to himself. But he was invisible, after all. 

Then Potter crossed to his bed and lifted his pillow, and suddenly arousal was twinned with outrage. That was _his_ green and silver Slytherin scarf under the pillow, along with one of the blue jars of creamy salve that had been taken from _his_ potions storeroom. There was also a sort of silvery box, and Snape watched as Potter set these things next to him on the bed. 

The boy wound Snape's scarf around himself, placing one end across his face and trailing the other so the fringe just touched his cock. Taking a large scoop of lotion with two fingers, he began rubbing his erection; with the other hand he tapped the silvery box. 

"What is it, Potter?" Snape started in surprise to hear his own voice, tinny but completely recognizable, issuing from the box. 

"I want you, Professor Snape," said the boy on the bed, while the silver box muttered something in about a homework assignment. "I want your cock." 

Snape stood transfixed as he listened to himself say, "I'm pleased to see you interested in something other than Quidditch. For a change." 

"Want to fuck me?" Potter said, over the noise from the box. 

"Of course, Potter." Snape could hear the sarcasm in his recorded voice. That tone was designed to strike terror into his listeners, but by the way the boy was writhing and biting at his lip, he could see that it was clearly inspiring an entirely different emotion. "I have nothing better to do with my time than to jump to the Famous Potter's every whim." 

"Professor Snape, you sexy bitch," moaned the boy, tapping the silver box to silence. Another dollop from the blue jar, and he had his fingers pushing into his body, matching the stroking of his other hand. "Severus Snape," he sighed. 

In some small part of his brain, Snape knew that he ought to feel disgusted, or at the very least amused. The greasy, nasty old potions professor turning out to be the object of Harry Potter's adolescent wank fantasies -- how ridiculous! But the feelings of the absurd he harbored were completely overrun by feelings of sheer lust. Right in front of him was a good-looking, nicely-endowed seventeen-year-old boy, moaning his name as he thrust fingers into his body, squeezed his cock -- how could he not be aroused? Snape's invisible hand went to his own invisible prick, hard and needy, and he stroked and squeezed in the same rhythm that he watched being enacted on the bed. 

Then Potter arched in a most delicious way just as Snape's fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot on his own erection; the invisible man could not help but let out a slight gasp. Suddenly, the boy's head lifted, and he looked around, suspicious. 

"Is someone there?" 

Oh, well, thought Snape. As well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb. And it would be a pity for the show to stop now. 

He advanced slowly toward the bed until he stood over the boy's body, spread out in its perfection like a feast for him. He poised two long fingers over the skin, then gently brought them down. 

Harry shivered as he felt a barely-perceptible touch, soft as a butterfly's wings, slide down his stomach and past his hip. Had one of the castle ghosts slipped into his room and witnessed his little fantasy? The thought filled him with embarrassment, and his erection began to wilt; suddenly the touch deepened to a firm hand grasping his cock, and a voice whispered into his ear. 

"Have you never studied incubi, Potter?" 

Instantly, he was rock hard again. That voice… 

"Lustful thoughts bring demons of lust," came the hissing in his ear, as the invisible fingers stroked along his shaft. The warm puffs of air against his neck made him shiver. "The incubus lurks in the shadows, just waiting for someone like you to bring it to life with your fantasies." 

"Fantasies," gasped Harry. He'd never imagined…oh god, another hand on him, and he couldn't think. Invisible hands, invisible lips, an invisible tongue licking down his chest. The feel of invisible hair brushing him. 

The jar by his side tipped, and he watched in a daze as a gob of the creamy stuff lifted through the air and then spread itself out on…weird, he thought, shaking his head slightly. A floating penis gradually took shape, outlined and defined by the cream, and then the fingers that had spread the cream were partly visible as well. He tried to remember what he'd learned about incubi, but the thoughts were driven out of his head by the sensations as ghostly fingers drove into him. 

"Oh, god. Oh, yes." he groaned. His fantasies expanded to accommodate the wild things happening to his body. In his mind he was imagining the questing fingers as the same he saw wrapped around a long stirring rod at the head of the Potions classroom. He felt his legs being nudged aside and he eagerly opened his body for the strange, floating cock which pushed at his entrance and slowly disappeared inside him. 

Oh, the sensation. Sliding and filling and buzzing inside him, setting off little earthquakes that he could feel slowly accumulating, pushing him toward orgasm. Better than all the fantasies, even if it was only a spirit and not a real person. But he could feel the weight and warmth of a body over him, and he could see the indents in the mattress where invisible knees pressed, and hear breathing, and it all just seemed too real, too human, for it to be a spirit. He could see bits of something pressing against his body, see flashes of cream outlining the invisible fingers that squeezed his cock. And an incubus wouldn't be making those moaning sounds, would it? 

He reached up to where the creature's shoulders might be, and found them, pulled the body toward his own. His hands slid up and tangled in what his fingers told him was thick hair. Closing his eyes so he didn't have to fight the strange sensation of feeling something yet seeing nothing, he moved his hand across what was undeniably a human face. A face with a large nose. A very distinctive nose. 

"Oh, god, Professor Snape!" Harry screamed, and came harder than he ever had in his life. 

At the feel of the clenching muscles and the sound of Potter's voice in ecstasy, Snape thrust once more and grunted wordlessly as his own climax washed over him. He wondered idly, as his mind floated in the haze of orgasm, whether his semen was invisible; would it simply appear when he did, when the potion wore off? 

The boy's hands had moved from his face and hair down to his waist, clasping him tightly. There was a stickiness splattered on his stomach and hand, and as he looked down he realized that although his might be invisible, Potter's most certainly was not. He would have to clean himself off before leaving the room, or he'd present a most bizarre sight to anyone wandering the halls. 

Speaking of which. He put one hand on the bed and pushed himself up -- that is, he tried to push himself up. But the arms around him only pulled him down more tightly. 

Then Potter spoke. "Discorporate." 

"Are you trying to dispel me?" Snape whispered, trying to sound as haughty as possible. 

"No. I'm trying to capture you. If you truly are an incubus, then you can escape by simply discorporating." One hand slid down to cup his arse, the other moved to the back of his neck. "Come on, prove it to me." 

Snape started to sweat. This was going to be a problem. Damn the boy for paying more attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts than in Potions! And damn himself for giving in, for being seduced by the vision of Potter spread-eagled on the bed, touching himself, moaning his name. He started mentally composing his letter of resignation as the hand against his neck pulled him down toward Potter's lips. 

Which were soft against his own, soft and welcoming, and he opened to the tongue thrusting against his mouth. The boy giggled and pulled away. "That looks so funny!" 

"It does not do to laugh at Dark creatures." 

"Dark creature, my arse," Potter said, and then laughed again. "Come on, Professor, you're well and truly caught." 

"I could be anyone," Snape whispered, weakly. His whole being felt as limp as his spent cock, loosely slipping out of the boy's body. 

Potter's hand slid around to his face again, ran fingers deliberately down his nose. "I don't think so." He looked up, more or less into Snape's eyes. "And I don't mind." He pulled Snape down for another kiss, hot and wet and deep. "You were watching, weren't you? So you know I wanted you. And you wanted me." 

"I wanted to teach you a lesson, you infuriating boy." He didn't bother disguising his voice by whispering. He was, indeed, well and truly caught, and he knew it. 

"Teach me some more, Professor Snape." Potter ran his hands down his sides and stroked at Snape's hips, reached toward his cleft. "This is much more fun than Potions." 

"Potter!" Snape twisted away, somehow made it to his feet. 

"Don't you think you should call me Harry?" The brat was grinning. Snape started toward the door, but Harry -- Potter -- interrupted. 

"I wouldn't leave yet if I were you. Look in the mirror." 

Snape looked. Potter had distracted him to such a degree with his taunts that he had almost forgotten the mess he was in. Smears of semen and lubricant decorated his invisible body, and his lips and tongue were delineated by swatches of saliva. It was a strange and discomfiting sight. 

"Then what do you suggest I do, Potter?" He looked around for the boy's wand. It had to be close by. 

"Harry." 

"Harry. What shall I do?" There it was. He lunged. 

Potter was faster, damn him. "I suppose I could do a cleaning spell on you. But I want something in exchange." 

Snape leaned against the wall. "You hold all the cards. Harry." 

"Did you enjoy this?" 

"Do I enjoy being naked and filthy, without my wand, trapped in the bedroom of one of my students?" Snape scowled. 

"Did you enjoy having sex with me?" His voice dropped. "Do you want to do it again?" 

"That is a monumentally idiotic question," he snapped. What did the brat think \-- that he moaned and writhed and came and hated every minute? "But whether I enjoyed it or not is immaterial. I cannot do it again." 

"Why not? I want to do it again." 

He sighed. "You do realize that it is unethical for…a person in such a position to come to a student's room?" 

"I would never expect Professor Snape to visit me," said Harry. Then he smiled. "But I would very much like a certain incubus to come again." He lifted his wand. "Open your mouth." 

Snape did, and felt a strange scouring across his body and in his mouth as Harry said the words of the cleaning spell. He looked into the mirror: nothing looked back at him. He was free to leave. He should leave. He should not come back. 

Harry lifted his wand again, opened the door. "I'll leave it unlocked for you." 

He would come back. Again and again. 


End file.
